


The Purifying Power of Rock

by ArtHistory



Category: Original Work
Genre: Instant Weight Gain, M/M, Weight Gain, magical weight gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23401831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtHistory/pseuds/ArtHistory
Summary: Music has the ability to summon up all of negativity out of us. But it all has to go somewhere. And it turns out that negativity looks, and tastes, a lot like chocolate pudding.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 49





	The Purifying Power of Rock

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt kink fic based on the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08_O9IAKMKA
> 
> Very fun!

_ “In a mayhem of demons and fire _

_ In the rage of the howling storm _

_ One and all to the final trial _

_ In the hope of a brand new dawn” _

“It doesn’t matter. You’re on in five.”

“It  **does** matter! I’m not going to be able to process so much-’

* **GUUUURGLE***

Ulrich the Black dropped a thick, hot hand to his toned abs. Color rose to his cheeks, the streaks of black makeup around his eyes failing to obscure a crimson blush.

“That- That doesn’t mean I’m  **ready** ! It just means that- Look, a crowd of this size, I need at least another half an hour of preparation or-”

“You sound plenty ready to me, songbird.” Michael said. He flashed his perfectly straight, dazzlingly white teeth as he stepped towards the 6’2 brute. A full head shorter than the heavy metal star, the way Michael’s hand drifted over Ulrich’s six-pack before drifting up to  **bounce** his meaty pecs revealed exactly who was in charge of who. And this was, also, literal.

Michael’s hands viciously  **clapped** to either side of Ulrich's trim waist, causing the beefy singer to jump, his full ass bouncing behind him. Ulrich gulped as he looked down. Though his biceps were nearly the size of his manager’s head, Michael’s fiery red hair, matched perfectly with his tie, jet black suit, and sharply defined made the shorter man look far more imposing than the long-haired rocker ever could. Or would even want to.

In a flash the thick, chain necklace around Ulrich’s neck was in Michael’s fist, and the rock god was tugged down to meet his manager’s icy, grey eyes.

“Now it’s three minutes. So get ready. We’ve got a big crowd tonight, and they can’t wait to  **let loose** .” Michael growled. Ulrich swallowed back a whine, desperate to ignore how Michael’s tone made his cock  **throb** . 

And “letting loose” was happening the moment Ulrich’s steel-toed boots stomped onto the stage. He spread his arms wide, howling into the microphone as his guitar hung over his shoulders, one swift movement bringing it to his front, sending up a furious, animalistic roar from the crowd. Ulrich’s bandmates took their cue, and immediately the deafening scream of metal gave the impression of silence falling over the audience.

In actuality the crowd was losing their minds more than ever. Howling obscenities, losing themselves to the music, it was almost as if every dark urge beneath the skin of the hoard was being tugged up into the air - 

And released.

As the concert continued, the audience grew calmer. More relaxed. Men and women that were once fistfighting were holding one another in their arms. Broken bones were being mended, even faded tattoos suddenly brimming with color.

A dark funnel cloud swirled through the ceiling of the venue, drifting, then charging towards the stage. A tornado of hatred  **focused** so suddenly as Ulrich threw back his head to end the band’s final number. Ulrich’s bandmates continued to play, and the audience would swear they kept hearing Ulrich’s voice, even as the plume of smog thickened, condensed, swirling into a delicious-looking mass of warm, wobbling, jet black pudding. As if on cue the singer popped open the bottom of his guitar, swirling the triangular piece of hollow plastic into his hands before popping what was most certainly now a  **funnel** between his handsome lips. Michael hovered offstage, checking his watch before leaning against a wall, ready for the show.

As if on cue, the pudding rushed into the singer’s mouth.

Ulrich swallowed.

And swallowed.

And swallowed.

At first, Ulrich’s massive arms *pumped* with energy. His abs hardened, looking more stunning, even more defined than before. The singer looked offstage to Michael, even daring to  **wink** at the man, lifting up his skin-tight tee to rest along his chest, showing off his pristine stomach. His legs tensed, blood rushing in his ears before suddenly Ulrich felt…

Full.

He’d never felt so *full* before. Never in his hundreds of years as a siren, as a cleanser. He paused his swallowing, feeling his cheeks swell outward like a chipmunk’s. He’d never-

**GLORP**

Ulrich’s eyes flashed to Michael, whose jaw had gone slack, mouth hanging open, staring at-

Ulrich looked down.

Ulrich’s abs were nowhere to be seen. In their place was a dome of snow-white cream, spilling out into the open air, charging forward over the hem of Ulrich’s jeans like a dog let loose for its morning run. 

A muffled sound of shock emerged from his comically full mouth. Which was, unfortunately for our fit hero, all the open-throat the pudding needed to eagerly rush down into his already taxed stomach.

Ulrich whined, the pudding pouring in faster now, his free hand lashing out to palm,  **heft** the great weight of all the warm pudding swelling out and softening his-

Softening?

Michael gasped as love handles  **blorped** out from Ulrich’s fiercely toned sides. As they fattened, thickened to form a rich roll of wobbling lard around his back. The rocker’s ass bloated backwards, Ulrich’s jeans straining audibly as each cheek made itself known, vying for space within his jeans to the point the strong material was shrieking along his backside, Ulrich’s quickly thickening thighs giving them no succour, no space for breath as Ulrich ceased holding the funnel and brought both hands down to the meaty lower lip of his belly.

He moaned, fondling all that fresh vanilla. Each digit of his fingers began to transform, matching his once-meaty biceps as they turned to plump sausages of fat, filling up the space between his knuckles and filling up the space between his armpits and pecs - oh, excuse me, -  **tits** . That’s exactly what they were now. Completely revealed as the pudding continued to pour into Ulrich, pecs swelling, rounding to the point his already raised shirt simply shredded itself, Ulirch’s moobs dumping out into the open air to bounce before finding purchase on the great shelf that was now his  **gut.**

* **POP** *

With a whimper, the button of Ulrich’s jeans gave way, prompting a whine from the rocker and the immediate sigh of his zipper being forced down. Ulrich’s navel shifted rapidly from stretched, to cavernous. Sinking into all that delectable cream, Ulrich fingered the depth of it, trying to measure just how far he had gone, quietly willing himself to stop letting it feel too good.

As the last of the pudding slid happily down the oversized siren’s throat, Michael found himself hurriedly stumbling onto the stage. Ulrich was, frankly. Unrecognizable.

His long dark hair and 6’2 height were intact. But his abs? His muscular arms? His face-

Oh. Oh his  **face** .

Michael felt his heart pound as Ulrich popped the funnel back into his guitar. He turned, licking his lips, looking far too much like a hog that had eaten it’s fill from the trough.

His harsh, masculine jawline had swelled. Rounded. Filed out to the point his cheeks were simply cherubic, kissed with black stubble, and bloating downwards into a wobbling second chin. His eyes crinkled as he smiled.

Ulrich’s gut  **bulged** with wanton excess as he let out a deep, wet belch, leaning back before  **clapping** both hands to the sides of his gut, a thin sheen of sweat making that great, white whale  **sparkle** under the lights of the stage.

The crowd was beginning to come out of the spel.. Feeling warmer, happier, kinder. More in love with their fellow man. But they would still have eyes. They were about to see their rock god - the muscular, fit, toned Ulrich the Black - transformed into a shockingly overfed  **pig** of man. Michael reached out blindly, trying to grab at the hands resting so casually, so contently along that endless mass of belly, and instead only succeeded in hooking his thumb into Ulrich’s deep navel, the rest of his hand filling with a slab of delectable lard. 

Michael panicked. HIs heart thundered in his ears, blood pounding before he let out a squeak as Ulrich leaned forward, trapping Michael’s hand in a rich fold of warm belly, using his height to loom over his smaller manager.

“I told you,” Ulrich purred, voice like caramel as it flowed out from his mic, Michael gulped, Ulrich’s fat hand grabbing his own, guiding it to the side of Ulrich’s gut and  **pressing** it in.

“I needed another half an hour.”


End file.
